Freddie
by ellen07
Summary: George writes a letter to Fred.


**Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter, J.K. Rowling does. Believe me, if I wrote Harry Potter, a **_**lot**_** of characters would still be alive.**

Dear Fred,

It's George.

I don't know why I'm bothering to say that, because it's not like you're able to read this and even if you could, you'd know it was me because our handwriting is identical. I guess it's a bit of a habit now, since you're not here anymore to know where I am when I am. I really miss that.

I thought writing a letter to you might make me feel better, but I just feel stupid now. You're never going to read it and I'm never going to feel better again, not like before. There's no point in writing all my feelings or what's been happening since you left, because if you can see us then you already know and if you can't then you won't be able to see this letter. I really hope you can see us, Freddie. I really want you to be with me.

Remember when we were little, after Uncle Bilius died and we asked Mum what would happen to him? She told us he had gone to Heaven, which was the big white fluffy place that you only get into if you've been a good boy. And then the two of us stayed up all night making a list of the bad stuff we had done so that we could start apologising to people and we'd get into Heaven when we died, because Mum had told us we were being naughty boys? I found those lists the other day. I finally got the guts to go back into our room to clear out some of your stuff. I didn't want Mum and Dad to have to do it. They were hidden under our mattresses – we obviously hadn't turned into the geniuses we are by then if we couldn't think of anywhere better to put them. Anyway, we never finished them. Here's what there was so far:

_The Bad Things Fred and George Weasley Have Done That They Have To Apologise For If They Want To Get Into Heaven (But Sometimes Come Back Home to Freak Out Percy and Make Friends with the Ghoul)_

_Flew into that big dog that some of the Muggles in Ottery own (and scared it really badly) while we were playing Quidditch, even though Mum told us we were meant to be cleaning our rooms_

_Said the 'B' word after reading it in Bill's journal_

_Read Bill's journal (the one that he says Nobody Can Read Under Any Circumstances)_

_Made fun of Bill for having a crush on Emily Abbott after reading about it in his journal that Nobody Can Read Under Any Circumstances_

_Tied a rope around baby Ginny and tried to use her as fishing bait. Nobody told us there was meant to be a hook if you want to catch fish. Or that fish don't want to eat baby Ginny_

_Showed the gnomes where Mum keeps her drawers_

_Laughed when the gnomes robbed all Mum's drawers while that little one with the scratched up eye distracted her with his new dance_

_Taught the gnomes that new dance that provided the distraction_

_Used Ron's Puffskin for bludger practice_

_Convinced Ron that the Lovegood girl from down the road was writing him all those love letters_

_Robbed Dad's rubber ducks and put them in different places every day so he thought his spell worked and they were moving on their own_

_Gave Percy a fake Hogwarts letter that told him because he was such a genius he got to go to Hogwarts two years early_

_Convinced Percy to sneak off to Diagon Alley in the middle of the night because Mum knew the letter was fake but we told him she was wrong_

_Tol_

We did some pretty bad stuff, huh? Not as much as we did at Hogwarts, but we got better with age. I think we stopped writing the lists because we were laughing so hard at all the stuff we did and started planning more pranks. So we never got around to apologising either, but I think you got in anyway. I hope you did, even though I know you'd have fun with Peeves if you were stuck in Hogwarts forever. That way you could see us. I really hope you can see us. Maybe that way you can come back some time. Visit us. If you're not too busy.

And what happened to writing letters to each other from Heaven if the other died first? We had it all planned out, whoever was there would find out where the best places to play Quidditch and plan pranks are so that we can plant our flag and claim the land!

I know this is stupid, Freddie. I'm trying to make jokes and keep going, the same as I was before. But I can't. Ron's helping out in the shop and it's doing great, but it's not the same. Nothing is.

I miss you so much, Freddie. I don't think I ever felt more scared than when I walked into the Great Hall that night and saw you lying there. I didn't even know it was you at the start, or if it was you messing with us. I didn't know what I was supposed to do. I was so scared that when you died, I would die too because even though I'd never say it, I always thought of us as one, the way everyone else did. You can't have Gred without Forge. I was so scared to take one more step into that hall because if I did then I'd see all of you, lying there, not like I've ever seen you before and the only way I'd ever see you again. I thought that if I just left the Hall then and ran as fast as I could I'd run into you and everything would be fine. I was scared to breathe or to move in case the whole world caved in around me.

You'll never understand how it felt that night, Freddie. I don't think anyone will. I think I knew there was something wrong. I had run to fight with Dad, even though we promised to stay together. I keep thinking, _What if I had stayed with Fred? Would he be alive? Would I be dead, or would Dad be dead? Those fifth years who snuck back in to help and who realised it was all too much for them and they needed my help, would they be dead?_

I _felt_ it, Freddie. I knew something happened to you. I ran off with Dad and I was fighting and then I felt this feeling go through me like I just couldn't breathe anymore, like I got punched in the chest and there was a huge gaping hole. I know what you'd say if you were here – it'd go well with my ear, wouldn't it? But I had this terrible feeling and it was as if there were dementors surrounding me, sucking out my soul and I prayed to God that that was what was happening, because if that wasn't it and something had really happened to you I couldn't bring myself to get back up and fight the Death Eater that had a wand pointed at my face.

I walked into the Hall, Freddie, and I had never come closer to lying down on the floor and letting myself die. I wanted to do it so much, Freddie, to lie down next to you and be dead with you and know that we wouldn't be apart, that this _wasn't_ happening. But I didn't. Mum stopped me, the look on her face, her crying. She was calling your name, Fred, and then she saw me and she grabbed me and we cried together and my face was right beside yours and I couldn't help feeling more dead than you were. You were pale and unmoving and still smiling and I was pale and rocking and crying so loudly I thought my eardrums were going to burst and I thought, _What if this is the other way around? That Mum was calling Fred for help, to make sure he was there? What if I'm dead and Mum is rocking me and she's the one crying in my ears, what if Fred is still because he's watching my dead body, and that's not a smile but him trying not to cry, because his mouth always turns up at the corners when he's trying to stop himself from crying?_

That wasn't what happened though, was it Freddie?

There's so much I wish had happened differently that night, Freddie. I wish I had stayed with you. I wish I had fought by your side and killed that bastard that did it. I wish I had been there, that I could have seen your face, alive, heard your voice and your laugh just one more time, had one more chance to be there with you, to be _us_ again.

I wish I had told you I loved you, Freddie. I love you so much, and I never told you enough. If I had the chance Freddie, I'd tell you that. I wish I had hugged you before I left you, the way I wanted to, but my pride stopped me because it wasn't a very manly thing to do in a battle and I wanted to fight then and there. If I had the chance Freddie, I'd hug you and never let go. You're part of me, Freddie, and part of me died that night with you. I love you and I miss you and I need you because without you I feel like I can't breathe.

Part of me wishes I could hate you, Freddie, hate you for leaving me, for leaving us. Part of me wants to blame you for not holding on. If I could hate you then maybe I wouldn't miss you so much. But I can't, because the only think I can think of when I think of you is how much I miss you and love you and how you'd call me a girl with how emotional I'm getting if you were still here.

Do you miss me Freddie? I spend a lot of time asking myself that question. Can you see us, are you with us, sitting beside me and looking after me as I write this letter? Do you wish you were here with me, pointing out my grammar mistakes and sketching diagrams for a new Weasley product? Will you stand beside me when I stand laughing at the stupid haircut Mum gives Ron before Ginny's wedding? Will you be there with me while I have a very serious talk to Harry about how he better treat our little sister _very_ nicely, even though we know he will but we just like to see the slightly scared look on his face?

What about when I get married, Freddie? I always thought you'd stand beside me, my best man and make a joke about how you were surprised anybody would have me. Will you still be there, just not for me to see? Will you still whisper that joke in my ear (the ear that undoubtedly made it into Heaven with you) as I say 'I Do'? I think about that a lot Freddie. It's still hard to believe that you won't actually be there for me to see, to hear, and to touch when I still haven't let you go.

I get by, Freddie; by remembering all the good times we had together, all the times we laughed. I miss your laugh so much, that bit louder than mine, a little bit goofier-sounding. Remember in fourth year, when we replaced all the Slytherins pumpkin juice with Skele-Gro? They spent ages in the Hospital Wing and we got detention for weeks, but it was so worth it. It's strange to think that I'll never get into trouble with you again. Do you remember the good times Freddie?

I don't know if you know Freddie, but I visited you a while ago. In the graveyard. I was the one in the brown jacket with red hair and the devilishly handsome face. It was the first time I had the guts to do it since the funeral. It was hard, Freddie, really hard. Not as hard as the funeral. Mum and Ginny bawled. So did I. The others handled themselves a little better, but I couldn't bring myself to care about what people thought. I was wrong earlier; the closest I had come to lying down and dying with you was at the funeral, putting your coffin down on the ground with Dad, Bill, Charlie, Percy and Ron and watching them lower you into the ground. I wanted nothing more than to jump in there with you Freddie.

But it was only when I visited you for the first time that I realised nothing is the same, _nothing_. I thought there would be something, something I could hold on to, but there's not. The air around me is colder, because you're not close to me, warmth radiating from you in the way it did because you were always happy. People are different; they are not used to 'George' unless there is a 'Fred and' before it. They don't know how to treat me. I find it harder to make jokes, to concentrate on new products, to concentrate on _anything_, because my thoughts always lead back to you and how you're not here with me. I feel smaller, slower, stupider, weaker and emptier without you there. I can't breathe the same way that I used to because there's always something in my throat; constricting my lungs and making my breath shorten. It's that feeling I got the moment you left, and it's not going away. Everything's different. I'm different.

I'm starting to ramble, Freddie. I know what you'd say: _Starting to?_ I don't have a whole lot left to say. I love you. I miss you. I wish I could bring you back. I hope you watch over us, even if it's just to check in from time to time.

Don't be a stranger, Freddie.

I love you.

I miss you.

I need you like air. I need you until the day I die.

I hope on that day you'll be waiting for me with a billion prank ideas and the perfect Quidditch spot.

I hope you get an autograph from that Elvis guy for me while you're waiting – you know I loved his outfit.

I love you, Freddie.

George.


End file.
